


Buongiorno, Loverboy

by oikanoo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (ass)(ass)(in), Iwa-chan is hot, M/M, Mafia AU, and oikawa is screwed, assassin falls for victim trope, daichi is old, nishinoya pops up, other people eventually, suga and daichi make appearances
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-08-18 06:39:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8152573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oikanoo/pseuds/oikanoo
Summary: Oikawa thought that this was going to be easy. He's never had any trouble on his missions ever, even when asked to dispatch some of his closest acquaintances. It's supposed to be simple - flirt a little, maybe ask them out, worm your way into their bed - then the next day, click, bang, thump, and the job is done. But Mamma Mia.Once he sees those arms, he knows.Oikawa Tooru is so, so fucked.





	1. Oikawa Thinks He Knows What He Is Doing

“Oikawa,” the man greets him, face partly shaded in the dim light.  
The assassin gives his most charming smile and raised a hand to wave. “Hello, Daichi ~. My, what a stylish blazer you’re wearing today-”  
The man - Daichi - snorts. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Tooru.”  
“- Sugawara-san must’ve picked it out for you,” Oikawa finishes.  
Daichi narrows his eyes.  
“Anyways,” the brunet continues, cocking his head to one side, I heard you had a job for me?”  
Daichi clears his throat. “Yes. That’s right. There’s a man in Rome threatening the safety of some of our… workers and we need him put down.” The edge of his lips quirks upwards in a half-smirk. “Feeling up to it, Tooru?”  
Oikawa snickers. “Ready as ever, old man Dadchi.”  
Daichi’s face hardens - he looks torn between laughter and anger, which graces his face with a rather constipated look - but he speaks again, voice straining to stay calm. “He lives in Quartiere XIII Aurelio, near the Vatican. I need him disposed of in two months - he's getting in the way of some of our operations. You'll be rooming with him in an apartment for a month, or until you can dispose of him. How about it?”  
Oikawa cocks a thumbs up at the man. “Sounds good, boss. Just gimme a ride there and he’ll be dead in no time.”  
Daichi’s lips quirk into a smirk. “As expected of my top hitman. The driver will be waiting at the door of ristorante _La Bella Venezia_ in two hours. Pack your things - you’re going to Roma, my friend.”  
***  
Oikawa gives an exaggerated yawn as the driver loads his bags into the trunk with a thump. “So! Nishinoya-san. What’s my backstory this time?”  
The small yet energetic driver bounces into the driver’s seat and Oikawa sits down to his left. “You’re an artist, looking for work, and you, a stupid _asino_ , decided to go to Italy because it’s the country of art and shit.”  
“Art and shit,” Oikawa echoes dryly.  
“Yeah, I mean that,” Nishinoya says back, driving like some sort of madman down the bumpy cobblestone roads. “Really. Rome’s down and dirty. Perfect for an idiot like you.” Oikawa gives Nishinoya a disgusted and insulted look but stays silent as the driver continues talking. “It’s like six hours to get to Roma,” he says, rolling the r to accentuate the word and torture foreign Oikawa further. "You're going to suffer, and I'm going to make sure of it." He grins, a determined look set in his golden eyes.  
“I am a hitman,” the brunet hisses in warning, “And this exceptionally wonderful hitman hates long car rides. Couldn’t Daichi have sent me somewhere closer? Darn. And with another driver, too,” he says from between clenched teeth as Nishinoya screeches to a stop to make way for a girl walking her dog.  
The driver snickers, then shoves his foot down on the gas. “Tough luck, loverboy,” he replies. He jerks the wheel to the left and sends Oikawa smashing into the right windshield, then returns to driving normally.  
“Nishinoya Yuu!” Oikawa promptly shrieks, desperately clutching at his head, an unimaginably furious look prominent on his face. “You ruined my hair!”  
Noya gives another laugh and veers to the right this time, effectively crushing the left side of Oikawa’s head into the window.  
Oikawa gives a loud wail of agony.  
***  
Six hours later, a disgruntled and harassed Oikawa exits the small black car, muttering various animated curses towards Nishinoya’s general direction. His bags land with a thump next to him, courtesy of Nishinoya. Said driver hovers behind him, grinning like a madman.  
“Enjoyed the ride, Oikawiener?" Nishinoya snickers, bouncing around on the balls of his feet.  
“Not with a shit driver like you, dickhead,” Oikawa replies venomously, too tired to put on a pleasant face.  
Unfazed, Nishinoya grins, bounces around a few more times, then hops back into the car. “Be grateful that you even have a driver, buttmuncher.”  
Oikawa fixes him with an unimpressed stare. "'Buttmuncher?' Really? You couldn't think of anything else?"  
“Fine, then - _salut_ , you booger-eating ass-licking turdtasting dingleberry. See you in a bit! Don't die!” Then, without saying anything else that might detail what a bit meant, Nishinoya was off.  
Oikawa stares at the space the car was for a moment - those curses were absolute _gold_. He wishes he recorded them. Oikawa's glad he's gone, though - contrary to what his sunny demeanor and friendly appearance might suggest, the little driver is annoying as hell. He revels in the near-silence for a bit - well, not quite silent, but definitely a whole lot quieter now that Nishinoya's gone. But then Oikawa is reminded of where and who he is, or at least who he's supposed to be - a lost art student, hand clutched right around his bags, in front of an unfamiliar building, surrounded by judgmental Italians who are staring at him like he's committing a sin by disrupting their daily Roman life. Which, he reminds himself, he is.  
Oikawa decides that it's better to go into whatever apartment he's going to be sharing with his target - anything to escape this mess that is the streets at lunchtime.   
He gulps, raises his fist, and knocks on the door.


	2. Oikawa Realises He Doesn't Know What He's Doing

“ _ Buongiorno, signore. Posso fare qualcosa per lei _ ?” A stranger stands at the door - undeniably both suspicious and curious of this strange man standing there.

Oikawa should probably worry about the fact that he knows next to none Italian, and also that the man looks like he could beat Oikawa up at any given moment.

Well, he was worried, and that was part of it.

But what he's currently really worried about is his mission.

You see, there is no fucking way Oikawa Tooru is going to murder somebody this damn hot.

“ _ Scusi? Signore _ ?” The man breaks his shocked stupor with a string of rapid-fire Italian. “ _ Ha bisogno di aiuto _ ?”

“Um! No! Uh,  _ io non ho bisogno di aiuto _ ?” Oikawa hurriedly replies, shifting his bags nervously from his right hand to his left.

The stranger narrows his (attractive) emerald eyes - they're dark, Oikawa thinks, so they look mysterious - and he replies in fluent English, “Are you sure? You look kinda lost.”

Oikawa forces his jaw to remain where it was and not drop open at that voice. O Mamma Mia. Shit, his voice sounded even better in English.

“Um. I’m not - uh - ah - is this 23 Via Giacinto de Vecchi Pieralice, Quartiere XIII Aurelio?” Oikawa babbles, gripping the paper with the address tight, knuckles white.

“Huh. I’ve never heard anyone say my address like that.” The stranger crosses his (amazingly muscled) arms across his (unbelievably attractive) chest, staring at Oikawa blatantly with a curious gaze. “Yeah. That’s my address. How and why do you know it?”

“I’m, uh. Your, um, new apartment-mate?” He didn’t meant it to come out as a question, but Oikawa is beyond sane thinking right now. He shifts his weight to his left - then to his right - and back to his left - before settling on his right food, willing himself to smile and look cool in front of his charge.

“Ah. Oikawa Tooru?” the man asks, as if suddenly remembering. “From Venez- ah, Venice.” He gives a small smile, and Oikawa can feel his heart jump right out of his fucking chest.

Get yourself together, Tooru, Oikawa shrieks at himself, willing the flirty assassin hiding inside him to come back. How am I going to seduce and murder him while acting like a schoolgirl with a crush? He shakes his head once to clear his thoughts, then replies smoothly, smiling, more at ease, “Si, signore, that’s me. And you are…?”

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” the man says back, opening the door a little wider. “A fellow man from Japan. I guess we’ll be living together for… a month, right? Until you can find work?”

Oikawa blinks, momentarily startled. Work…? Oh, right. I'm an artist. Right. “Ah, yes, that’s right. I'll be staying here until I find some work and get my own apartment. Then you won't have a pretty face like me hanging around anymore to make you feel ugly.” He smiles, then sticks his tongue out to show that he was joking. Hopefully this will get Iwaizumi to open up more. Maybe he'll laugh? Maybe?

Apparently, it works. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, then snickers. “You won’t find any work with that crappy Italian that you have." Oikawa gasps in mock offense and raises a hand to his chest. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and Oikawa almost swoons as he says in his rich voice, "Come in and make yourself at home. There’s an empty room upstairs, to the left - dump your bags somewhere and get comfortable. Then come downstairs, and I’ll teach you some basic Italian, since apparently you don't know any at all.”

“Hey!” Oikawa says indignantly as he steps over the threshold, making his way to the second floor, “my Italian isn’t half bad, I'll let you know!”

Judging by the way Iwaizumi snorts, then fires back some vulgar-sounding words that Oikawa can’t understand, his Italian was more than half bad.

***

“So the polite form of asking ‘how are you’ is ‘come sta _Lei_ ’, or ‘ _Lei come_ sta’, not ‘ _come_ stai’,” Iwaizumi explains, writing something down in Oikawa’s new Italian notebook. "You can't just go up to strangers and talk to them in the 'tu' form - you have to speak in the ' _Lei_ ', then ask for permission to address them with _'_ tu'."

The assassin tries his best to listen attentively - he needs to understand some stuff around here, anyways - but he feels himself constantly being distracted by the way Iwaizumi’s arm muscles keep shifting under his skin tight shirt. Dannazione. Those arms would be the absolute death of him.

“Hey. Trashykawa. You listening?” Iwaizumi waves a hand in front of his face. Oikawa’s eyes zooms in on where his biceps stood out.

“Huh? _Che_? Nicknames already~?”

Iwaizumi leans back in his chair and gives a sigh. “Shittykawa. You’re distracted. Must be my undeniable attractiveness, huh?” He smirks.

“Uh-huh,” Oikawa replies, sarcasm dripping out of his voice, even though Iwaizumi's statement was cento per cento, 100% perfectly true. “At least you don’t look like a thirty-year old dad - oh, wait. Nevermind.” He makes a point of ogling Iwaizumi’s dresswear, even though he does appreciate the tight shirt and short pants, which are even shorter when he sits, mind you.

“Hey, don't talk about my clothes! You look like you just had a six-hour long car ride with a madman,” Iwaizumi shoots back, pointing at Oikawa’s ruffled t-shirt and creased shorts. "Even your hair is a mess."

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “That’s because I did ride in a car with a madman for six hours. And my hair's not that messy, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi’s eyes shoot open wide and the pencil almost drops from his hand. “Iwa-chan?”

Oops.

“Um, you see, I tend to give out nicknames to people… There’s Etsu-chan, and Toukki, and Rii-chan, and, um,” Oikawa blurts, flustered. Iwaizumi didn’t need to know that his victims always had nicknames.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, interrupting his little panicky rant with a wave of his hand. “Okay, okay, that's enough, don't give me the name of every single person you've ever met in your sad little life. I guess you can call me that. I think.”

Oikawa beams. “Grazie, Iwa-chan!”

Again, Iwaizumi does the head shake. Oikawa begins to think it's a habit of his. “ _Sei senza speranza, tu._ ”

Oikawa tilts his head, questioning. “What?”

“You’re hopeless,” Iwaizumi reiterates in English, putting aside the notebook and relaxing back into his chair. “I can't believe I have to live with you for a month.”

Oikawa gives a pout, crossing his arms. “Hey, that's a mean thing to say to a foreigner! Besides, it's only one month! You'll be sad when I leave, I promise. You'll regret ever saying a word against me and my beautiful face!”

Iwaizumi laughs, deep and clear, and Oikawa suddenly feels that he's in the presence of an angel.

“Let's go somewhere, Stupidkawa,” Iwaizumi says, rising from his seat. “See the sights of Roma, while you're here, we have a month to waste anyways until I can kick you and your annoying ass out of this place.”

Immediately brightening, Oikawa bounces up and snatches his camera off the table where he had put it before. “Hey, my ass isn't annoying, it's very beautiful, thank you. And of course! You lead, Iwa-chan! Take me on a Roman holiday~” he sings, referencing the movie that he knows Iwaizumi has to have seen.

“Roman holiday...?" Oikawa gasps and clutches his chest. "Iwa-chan! You haven't watched Roman Holiday?! And you're even Roman, too! Ugh, I'm so disappointed in you, Iwa-chan. Tsk tsk." Oikawa shakes his head in mock disappointment and turns his back on Iwaizumi with a dramatic huff. 

"What's up with that nickname still,” Iwaizumi grumbles. "I'll just lock you inside this house and not let you go out until you stop laughing at me." Immediately, the pout is back on Oikawa's face. 

"Noo, you can't do that!" 

"Watch me," Iwaizumi snickers, but opens the door and steps out anyways, Oikawa close behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also - apologies if my Italian is a bit off. I've only learned a bit from school, and the cultural things might be a bit weird since I only spent a few weeks in Italy on vacation :^)  
> Likewise, if there are too many foreign words, do tell ! I have a penchant for adding different languages into my works, but I tend to overdo it (;v;)  
> Thank you for reading !


	3. Oikawa Is Bad At Italian

The Italian air is cool in Oikawa’s nostrils, filling him with a fresh easiness that allows him to let loose of his regular troubles and just flounce around the renowned city with his new housemate ( _ target _ , his traitorous head reminds) in tow.

They stop at an Italian  _ bar _ \- a cafè, Oikawa reminds himself - and Oikawa buys them both drinks, as if his mind was trying its best to make him feel less guilty about killing such a beautiful creation. Iwaizumi now has a tiny cup of what looks like most dark, bitter coffee in the world ( “Just like you, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa snarks), and Oikawa grips a cappuccino lightly. The barista had given him an incredulous and slightly offended stare when he asked for it, and Iwaizumi whispered “You’re supposed drink cappuccino in the morning, dumbass”, but here he is. It tastes delicious.

“Ooh, Iwa-chan - look!” Oikawa suddenly stops and presses his nose against the glass of a store, eyes wide in delight.

“What?” The man halts his walking to stop and look at the leather bag that Oikawa was gesturing to quite animatedly.

“Look at that  _ bag,  _ Iwa-chan, that looks like  _ quality _ -”

“I'm not buying that for you, if you're wondering,” Iwaizumi interrupts, causing Oikawa to turn and pout.

“I wasn't going to ask - I  _ know _ that you're not going to buy it because you're stingy and you have no sense of fashion!” Oikawa says with a  _ hmph _ . Iwaizumi rolls his eyes - those emeralds catch the afternoon sunlight and Oikawa resists the urge to suddenly  _ choke and die _ on his coffee.

“Let's go, maybe find something cheaper for you,” Iwaizumi says, taking hold of a whining Oikawa’s arm and leading him away from the store.

They arrive at a piazza - Oikawa instinctively looks around for any hidden mafiosi that might recognize him. But the coast is clear - nobody would know him in Rome, anyways.

“Here, there's a gelateria over towards the right,” Iwaizumi comments, pointing in the direction of aforementioned ice cream parlor. Oikawa gives an ecstatic squeak and takes advantage of their linked arms, positively dragging Iwaizumi to the shop.

“ _Ciao_ ,” Oikawa beams at the lady behind the counter, not sure what else to say and also unable to say anything else in the face of _gelato_ _.  _ Ice cream is a gift from the gods and nothing people say can convince him otherwise.

She looks at him warmly, elderly face crinkling into a smile, waiting for him to continue his sentence.

Oikawa can literally feel drool in his mouth. " _Ciao_!"

The lady looks slightly confused, but she's still smiling. Good. "Ah,  _signora-_ "

“ _Buongiorno, signora_ ,” Iwaizumi interjects, bumping Oikawa to the side and walking up to talk to the owner himself. “ _Parli inglese? Lui non parla italiano, mi dispiace_.”

“ _Non è un problema, signore! Parlo un po_ ,” the elderly gelateria lady replies, pinching her fingers together to show how much English she knows, all while smiling warmly at Iwaizumi. “ _Volete mangiare gelati deliziosi, hm_?” She turns and says, “You guys want the good ice-a cream, eh? Right place for this!” She beams at Oikawa now, and a foreign warmth blossoms inside him. He blinks, then smiles back, and attributes the warmth to the sweltering heat of late summer.

“ _Si_ , of course! It looks very good, ah,  _ molto bene _ ,” Oikawa tries, and smiles wider at the lady’s delighted look.

“ _ Va bene _ ! Which one,  _ bello _ ?” she asks, and Iwaizumi’s face turns curiously red as Oikawa studies the gelato with an air of close scrutiny.

_ Bello. Handsome _ , he thinks vaguely, then says, “Straciatella and, ah,  _ l’arancia, per favore. _ ” The lady beams widely at his horribly integrated Italian, and scoops the vanilla-chocolate chip- and orange- flavored gelato into a ridiculously large waffle cone. “What will you be getting, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi gives him a strange look that clearly says  _ what the fuck, Oikawa, why here, why now, _ but he turns to the woman to order. Yet again, Oikawa nearly swoons at his low, clear tenor -  _ I should be prepared for this _ \- and he barely has time to think on this before Iwaizumi is grabbing his arm and saying loudly, “Thank the lady, you dolt.”

“H-Hai,” Oikawa says on instinct, then blushes sheepishly, laughs, and coughs out, “ _ Grazie, signora! Piacere _ !”

Amidst Iwaizumi’s dark “what the  _ shit _ was that, you illiterate idiot” and “did you  _ fucking call me Iwa-chan in public, what the fuck?” _ , Oikawa laughs and relishes the setting sun, delicious gelato, and the feeling of his new, handsome companion ( _ target,  _ he reminds himself) at his side.

They cross a bridge to get back to the apartment, and Iwaizumi’s hand brushes his.


	4. Oikawa Is Really Screwed

The next day is boring and lonely. Iwaizumi has work to go to ( _“So I can afford this damn apartment, even if you are paying half the rent”_ ), so Oikawa stays home, “works on his art”, and develops a plan to sleep with Iwaizumi.  
Of course, he knows what comes after the sleeping part - the part where Iwaizumi sleeps forever. And Oikawa isn't quite ready to deal with that just yet, so he instead focuses on making the other fall for him, hard, preferably as hard as he tripped on the second stair yesterday and landed flat on his face. Fucking stairs.  
He takes the notebook that Iwaizumi had given him for Italian studies and flips to the back, where he writes down an enigmatic PLAN at the top.  
Oikawa stares at the page for a long, long while.  
Then he throws the pen in his hand down on the table and plops his chin down after it. “I'm so screwed,” the assassin says out loud to the empty apartment.  
_Yeah, you are_ , it seems to reply, and Oikawa is ready to go for the alcohol when the front door slams open with a _thud_ that sends Oikawa four feet into the air like a cat.  
_“Cazzo!”_  
“I… um… Iwa-chan?”  
“Fuck. Fuck that man and all he stands for, I am _done_ ,” Iwaizumi spits out, kicking the door viciously to shut it then dropping his leather work bag by the door and storming upstairs. “I can't fucking _believe_ -” trails his enraged voice.  
Oikawa quickly follows him up, pattering footsteps soft compared to Iwaizumi’s angry stomps. He catches the door with quick reflexes before Iwaizumi can slam it shut and slips inside his room.  
“Iwa-chan, what happened?” Oikawa looks worriedly at him, closing the door with a gentle _click_.  
Iwaizumi is sprawled on the bed, face-down, shoes still on. His shoulders shake, and for a moment, Oikawa stupidly thinks that _this was all a prank, and now Iwa-chan’s laughing at me_. But then a dry sob hiccups from where Iwaizumi’s gorgeous face is buried in the pillow and Oikawa’s heart freezes.  
“It's none of your business, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi chokes out a moment later, “I don't want to bother you with my stupid problems. Go study or something, you don't even _know_ me, you don't know what I do, you don't know who I'm crying for.”

Uh oh. _A person?_

Quietly, Oikawa makes his way to the bed next to Iwaizumi’s prone figure and sits down, the bed dipping under his weight. “Iwa-chan, you bought me gelato, that's good enough of a reason,” he tries, wanting to lighten up the mood, but Iwaizumi doesn't move from his spot. Oikawa sighs then stands up. He sees Iwaizumi’s back go rigid at the movement ( _as if he didn't want him to leave_ ) but ignores it and slips out the door.  
The assassin pads softly to the kitchen and makes two steaming mugs of tea from brightly colored teabags that he stole from the cupboard. Figuring that Iwaizumi must be tired from crying and asleep by now, Oikawa takes a pen and writes on a Post-It that he also stole from the cupboard,  
_Dearest Iwa-chan,_  
_I don't know what's bothering you, but I'd be happy to listen! Anyways, since this tea is almost as hot as I am, I hope it helps while I'm not there._  
_xoxo Oikawa \\(^o^*)/_  
After a moment of hesitation, he scrawls a little heart on the side and hurriedly sticks it to the mug of tea before he can regret it. With his charge, Oikawa makes his way upstairs and eases Iwaizumi’s door open.  
Iwaizumi is splayed out on the bed, shoes somehow _still_ on, a thin trickle of drool from his mouth and dried tear stains on his cheek. Oikawa hates how vulnerable he looks like this, somehow - he sets the tea down on the table and looks down at Iwaizumi.  
The assassin gently arranges the other man’s limbs in a normal sleeping position and tugs the thin comforter over him, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand to wipe Iwaizumi’s face, light as a feather. Iwaizumi stirs a bit and Oikawa drops back immediately, eyes wide - but he settles back into sleep.  
Oikawa is thinking of three things right now.

1\. How cute Iwa-chan looks sleeping,  
2\. How easy it would be to slip in beside him, and  
3\. How easy it would be to launch a bullet right into his beautiful head and end this fucking mess of a job.

Oikawa freezes, quickly drops the tissue in the waste basket, and flees the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhh sorry if this was short, I wrote it in a hurry on the plane back from europe ^^" i might add more though !!! happy new year everyone xoxo :3


	5. Oikawa Needs A Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Oh _cazzo_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have an extra long chapter as apologies for my super duper long absence! ! ! ho bisogno di lavorare molto ;n; reminder that i do not know italian fluently so if you do, you're Very Welcome to correct the shit out of me grazie
> 
> also i wrote this over the course of like Three Months so if anything seems out of place hit me up thanks
> 
> ** update 5/10/17: I DIDN'T REALIZE THE LAST FEW PARAGRAPHS WERE IN PAST TENSE? ?? ?? ? ? ?? I changed it back but feel free to correct me if there are any errors <333 update coming soon !!!

Oikawa wakes up and suddenly wants to _disappear off the face of the earth. Because he is one wall away from his target, who he wants to-_

 _Now stop right there,_ he chastises himself, and flips over desperately onto his side, letting out a long groan.

“Shut up,” comes a long, drawn-out growl from the next room. Iwaizumi, thankfully, was no longer that depressed after that uplifting cup of Oikawa tea, and come morning, grumpy as ever. “Some people are normal and wake up at seven instead of, what, five-thirty?”

 _Iwa-chan’s morning voice is cute_ , is Oikawa’s first thought. His second thought is _I want to die._ “But Iwa-chaaan,” he wails instead of voicing his thoughts, “I can't sleep. Besides, it's like seven. Almost seven. Like, six fifty-four.”

“Cool,” Iwaizumi says dryly, muffled through the wall. “Fuck you, I don't care. Let me rest, I spent like a whole hour crying yesterday.” Then there is silence.

“Fuck me? Yes, please,” Oikawa mutters under his breath, squirming under the covers in an attempt to get comfortable enough to fall back to sleep. But he finds him unable to close his eyes and lets a drawn out groan, flopping to his stomach and looking at the headboard, trying to imagine Iwaizumi on the other side. How he would look like, coal black hair mussed up in sleep, hazel brown eyes half-closed...

“Oikawa,” comes the hazy, sleep-slurred voice of Iwaizumi through the thin wall. Oikawa nearly jumps off the bed.

“Yes, Iwa-chan? Sorry,” the assassin squeaks. “I woke you up again.”

There's a long sigh from the other room, then Iwaizumi’s voice again. “What would help you sleep?”

 _Is that an invitation?_ Oikawa brightens immediately. “Sleep with me, Iwa-chan!”

“What the fuck,” Iwaizumi grumbles, only faintly heard thanks to the plaster separating them. But footsteps come pit-pattering down the hallway and the assassin’s heart is going to jump right out of his chest.

The door opens and Oikawa sits up immediately, hair flattened on one side from the pillow but eyes bright, illuminated from the back by the open window. “Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi is gorgeous. Like, even in his dorky pajama pants - which are dinosaur-patterned and a minty green. Otherwise, he's wearing nothing else but a thin tank top. His bronze skin is bathed in the sunlight from the room’s window, highlighting the sculpted muscles on his arms with a shimmering sheen. Iwaizumi’s sharp hazel eyes, caught in the glow, shine a captivating green-gold like a jewel in the light, his cheekbones and jawline standing out against the rest of his illuminated face.

Oikawa forces himself not to choke and swallows harshly, ignoring his heart pounding in his chest. His blood pressure is probably way too high, but honestly, Iwaizumi looks too delicious to handle. “Iwa-chaan~ There's enough space for two in this bed~”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and walks over, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a _thump_ . “I'm not sleeping _with_ you, idiot.”

“What are you going to do then?” the assassin asks, slightly confused and put down.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes _again_ and doesn't answer, instead reaching down to push Oikawa gently back down on the bed. The assassin closes his eyes obligingly, then feels rough fingers smoothing through his hair. Oikawa’s pulse spikes and he splutters in surprise, eyes flying open. “I-Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi pulls his hands away

immediately, face slightly pink. “Is that not okay? Sorry. You helped me yesterday, so I thought maybe...” His face flushed slightly under the morning glow.

“Noooo, no no no Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hurries to reassure him, blinking up at the other. “Do it again, do it again, maybe I'll sleep and stop annoying you.”

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi snorts, but indulges him, running his fingers through Oikawa’s chocolate hair. Oikawa gives a satisfied hum and relaxes into the sheets, feeling his eyes slide shut.

He doesn't register the light press of lips to his forehead as he falls back into sleep.

 

***

 

When he wakes, Iwaizumi is no longer there. The sun is blindingly bright against the teal walls and Oikawa sits up, shielding his eyes and yawning. There's a knock at the door and Iwaizumi walks in with a mug of tea, face pleasantly red.

“Iwa-chan!”

“Don’t call me that,” Iwaizumi grumbles without any real malice, handing the mug to Oikawa, who accepts it, relishing the slight brush of their fingers. Iwaizumi’s cheeks look pink. Oikawa smiles to himself, stares at the steaming liquid in the mug, then gulps it down, regardless of the scalding heat. “And don’t choke either, stupid,” comes the quick reprimand.

Oikawa splutters slightly as his mouth comes into contact with the tea  - _Dio, this is almost hotter than Iwaizumi_ \- then gives a strained cough and smiles up at the other man. “I’d rather choke on something else, Iwa-chan,” he says cheekily before he can stop himself.

Iwaizumi’s face is flushed now, ruby splashed across his high cheekbones like a god took a paintbrush and decided to make art into _fine art_ . “Y-You- you _what_?!” he stutters.

“I’m joking, Iwa-chan, relax,” Oikawa laughs, setting the tea down on the bedside table. He rises from the bed, clad in a loose white t-shirt (that reads “ALIENS ARE REAL” in huge block letters) and a pair of shorts that he decided to put on the night before lest he fluster Iwaizumi too much. He stands, giving a huge yawn, then smiles widely. “So! What’s for breakfast?”

“I bought some _cornett_ \- uh, croissants? Chocolate ones. I figured that you would like them, you seemed to like the look of them yesterday when we walked around,” Iwaizumi says quietly, flushing again.

Oikawa blinks. He takes some time to process it.

 

“Iwa-chan, you do care about me!”

“ _Shut up!”_

 

***

 

They ate breakfast together in the kitchen, silhouettes illuminated by the bright morning sun. Oikawa stares at Iwaizumi for a while as they feast on their croissants and tea, looking at him like an artist studying a model. Funny. It seems that his false profession is turning into a real one.

Iwaizumi is strangely quiet while Oikawa blabbers on about his friends - with codenames, of course, ones that they hadn’t exactly _agreed_ on but Oikawa thinks they’re fitting.

Oikawa doesn’t think much of Iwaizumi’s silence - it wasn’t uncharacteristic, of course - until he was in the middle of explaining how “Little Shrimpy Dude legit took his hand and _slapped_ Giant Dude in the face! I think the others pissed their pants laughing-”

 

“Oikawa.”

 

Iwaizumi’s voice is quiet. Oikawa almost doesn’t hear it, but the other man’s eyes are suddenly staring right at him and he forgets how to breathe.

“...Y-Yes, Iwa-chan?”

Across the table, Iwaizumi fiddles with his hands, eyes suddenly cast down onto his now-empty plate. “I, um… I’m sorry for interrupting.”

Oikawa stares at him quizzically. “It’s okay?” His expression softens - “Iwa-chan, what’s wrong?”

“I need to tell you something,” Iwaizumi blurts out. His hands are shaking slightly. “Two things, actually, make that two things.” His dark emerald eyes flit to the right and back, his legs are crossed, arms wound together over his chest, he’s leaning back-

 _Iwaizumi is considering lying to me,_ the assassin realizes, not without a pang of hurt and fury. But Iwaizumi sighs, uncrosses his legs, uncrosses his arms, runs a hand through his hair, then leans forward and looks right at Oikawa. He feels his heart skip a beat.

“...Okay? Go on, I’m listening, promise.” Oikawa leans forwards on his elbows, placing his chin on his hands, heartbeat accelerated. What could possibly have Iwaizumi as strung up as this? “Does it have something to do with what happened… yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “The second one. Not the first one.”

Oikawa tilts his head like a lost puppy. “Okay, Iwa-chan, you’re weirding me out here. What’s going on?”  

“Okay. Okay.” Iwaizumi bites at his lip. “First. I’m gay.”

“Fine. Next? Is there any juicy stuff?” Oikawa leans forwards more - what could Iwaizumi possibly-

“You… you don’t think that’s… I mean…” Iwaizumi blinks, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Oikawa shrugs, confused. “No, not really, whatever you’re going to say. I’m pan, I’ve dated over twenty people in my life, and it was split pretty evenly. I didn’t date them seriously, of course, but whatever. And I live with a bunch of extremely homoerotic people back home, so I’m jaded to these kinds of things.” Not a lie. Despite what everyone thought, he _did_ know why the closets were always perfectly neat. You had to feel _some_ guilt after trashing the place with heavy make-outtage. “Next?”

“Oh. Okay.” Iwaizumi looks at him quizzically for a moment and pops a croissant crumb into his mouth. Oikawa tells himself to stop _salivating_ when his tongue darts out to lick his lips - Iwaizumi’s boutta drop something _heavy_ here. “So, yesterday I was a mess.”

“Yeah, you were,” Oikawa supplements helpfully as Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker to the door, the window, then back to him, obviously pondering what to say next. “And?”

“One of my good friends was hurt.”

“That’s… a normal reaction?” Oikawa is beyond confused. Okay? So what? Why was crying for a hurt friend such a dark secret? Yeah, he knows the feeling - when someone slashed Makki across the face with a pair of knives he had cried himself to sleep, too. And Mattsun apparently had a run-in with some gang recently - Daichi texted him at four in the morning with a short “ _Issei’s got his hand almost blown off. In surgery with Suga. Will update you.”_ But he’d learned that emotions only complicate work, so a quick “ _Tell him not to strain his hands trying to do things to Makki too soon~! ;)”_ usually sufficed enough to calm everyone down and not cause further trouble.

“No, no, that’s not it,” Iwaizumi breathes, running his fingers through his already-messy hair. “He was shot. In- In the hand. Lost it, his friend texted me this morning. And it was all because of me.”

Oikawa frowns. “ _Shot_? Is that what normally happens in Rome when you go on a walk?”

“No!” The other man growls almost, closing his eyes in frustration. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this earlier - you should’ve known what you were getting yourself into, but I really needed the rent, I still need money. My sister’s sick, deathly sick, and I need money, desperately. But now that you’re here… You’re too good for this, for what I’m involved in. They’ll come after you, maybe. I’m sorry.”

Oikawa is now thoroughly confused. “...Iwa-chan, what’s wrong? What am I too good for? _Everything_ , I know, but...”

Iwaizumi looks at him for a while, a sad tilt to his lips. Then he sighs, and goes to deposit his dirty dishes into the sink. “Never mind. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

He heads to work soon after, an unreadable expression on his face. Iwaizumi doesn’t say goodbye to Oikawa when he leaves, just brushes against him on his way out the door.

Oikawa is confused as _hell_ , but he doesn’t say anything. Daichi did ask him to scope out the place too.

So he ventures out on his own, bringing his trusty weapons along - a hidden gun, daggers in his boots, a pair of brass knuckles in his pocket. Old fashioned, but they packed a punch. Oikawa strolls along the streets like he’s been there his whole life, dressed in a black hat he stole from Iwaizumi’s closet and picture-perfect Ray Bans - a few girls ask to take pictures with him and he politely declines.

 _His_ picture can’t get around, after all.

Oikawa is finishing a bitter espresso in a quaint little cafe run by a pretty brunette when he spots a familiar head of hair walking past the cafe window. _Iwaizumi._

He slams the empty cup onto the table with a five-euro note pinned under it, then flies out the door, flipping his shades down to hopefully conceal his identity. Oikawa slips into the shadows, trailing Iwaizumi down one alley, down another…

He keeps spotting people in mint green out of the corner of his eye - a man with mint-green pants reading a newspaper, a woman in a mint green cocktail dress sipping champagne outside a pub, a little boy in sunglasses with a mint green hat… Oikawa vaguely tries to recall anything he learned about the mafia here, but he can’t remember anything apart from the fact that Iwaizumi was doing something that affected the Venetian sect. Badly.

Iwaizumi is also very fast.

Oikawa almost loses him as he turns a corner. He sprints after him, then screeches to a stop as he hears voices.

“ _Bene_ , _l’informazione e duecento?”_ A soft female voice greeted Oikawa’s ears, speaking in musical Italian. It was through a filter of some sort, changing her voice to something digital and undecipherable to devices. _Security measures,_ Oikawa recognized with a feeling of dread. _Mafia._

“Listen, sweetheart.” Iwaizumi’s voice, in hard, unforgiving English. “You don’t have to put up that front here. I said three hundred for the info, and I’ll be getting three hundred from you today.”

“ _No, no, signore, ho bisogno di-”_

“I don’t care what you need.” A thump, then a grunt of pain. “ _Give me the three hundred.”_

“Fine. You win.” The lady’s voice is stronger now, in English, but every syllable is still smooth and the vowels are rounded in an accent. “Make no mistake. My boss will be hearing about this.”

“Your boss, who cares about your boss? I operate on my own, Beauty. Your boss can’t harm me, not with what happened to Psiche yesterday when he tried to give me less than what the info was worth. Listen, Beauty, I’m sorry about Psiche - he’s my good friend too, but you understand, I know you do - I need the cash. Three hundred euros. _Grazie._ ”

 

_Beauty. Psiche. Shot in the hand. Info._

 

Oikawa recoils with a feeling of horror, backing away slowly from the alley. _Psiche._ Codename for Matsukawa Issei, who was shot in the hand while bargaining prices with a Roman informant. _Bella._ Codename for Shimizu Kiyoko, one of the main information gatherers of Oikawa’s mafia sect. If Kiyoko is here, talking prices with Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi said that Matsukawa’s injury was because of him...

That means Iwaizumi is Ace, _the Ace_ , the new and rising underground informant that has taken over all the information networks in Rome - the informant that has been charging high prices, too high, the one who had broken so many of their deals because the money was _not enough-_

Oikawa claps a hand over his mouth to muffle a frustrated noise, then darts out of the alleyway and back into the bustling street, fleeing blindly back to where the apartment ought to be.

Ace.

 _So this is my target,_ he thinks bitterly. _Good job, Daichi, you scouted him out. You found him, you finally found him, Iwaizumi Hajime, Ace. That’s why you sent me, the best assassin, you couldn’t have anyone screwing your plan up._

 

_And now I’ve screwed up so badly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a plan for this, which involved a walk on the river and fucking, but i decided that it's gotta be angsty \\_(*v*)_/ mi dispiace lol
> 
> comments give me life !!!! please,,,  
> and kudos are gr8 too  
> but the best thing is saying hi to me on twitter @oikanoo ;)  
> enjoy your day !

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from the wonderful Thal (@pastelyoosung on Twitter)! Lmao I'm so not used to posting on AO3 - forgive me for my shitty writing also lmao  
> kudos to @oikawa__ebooks (twitter) and @Akira14 (ao3) for beta reading the Italian =(＾● ⋏ ●＾)=  
> anyone is welcome to politely call me out on all my italian mistakes lmao
> 
> i'm @oikanoo on twitter! shoot me a dm yo (^・ω・^ )


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